


Three Tablespoons

by SunshineAndaLittleFlour



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Jack Zimmermann, Jack still plays for the Falconers, M/M, because Bitty has more important things to do than worry about knife shoe sport athletes, but Bitty has no idea who the fuck he is, but customers are dumb in real life and it's not because they think I'm cute, customer service au, meet cute?, more like meet dumb ha ha, sales associate Bitty, vaguely based on reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14623026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineAndaLittleFlour/pseuds/SunshineAndaLittleFlour
Summary: Bitty works in customer service and Jack is the Dumbest Customer He’s Ever Dealt With.Jack just wants to talk to the cute sales associate.





	Three Tablespoons

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to dedicate this to Lauren, who had a Very Terrible week.  
> I'd also like to dedicate this to everyone who's ever worked retail ever. You Know the Pain.  
> Any editing mistakes are Dave's fault
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr: https://sunshineandalittleflour.tumblr.com/

This man was simultaneously the hottest and stupidest customer Bitty had ever had the pleasure of assisting. 

He was taller than Bitty, but then again so were all of his coworkers, but this man’s muscles had muscles, and sue Bitty, he was a gay boy who could only handle so many of those.

The customer was putting said muscles to use, hefting a handheld mixer. It was one of the simpler models, something Bitty’s Moomaw had picked up using within minutes of holding it. But the man was staring at it like he expected it to take off in his hand. This was Pampered Chef, not NASA. 

"What's it for again?"

At least he was pretty.

"For those of us that don’t have a stand mixer to do the heavy lifting, sugar," Bitty said. And maybe he was laying on the pet names a little thick, but it wasn’t like he had a real name to go with. Yet.

The customer nodded and stared at the machine like it might tell him something else, something Bitty hadn't already repeated a dozen times.

“That sounds useful.”

Bitty ended up marching that poor man through most of the mixer aisle, debating the finer points of machinery versus hand. The customer nodded along, brow furrowed, and Bitty had to admire his focus if nothing else. And maybe his calves, even if they did lead to the ugliest yellow running shoes Bitty had ever seen. 

When they finally got to the register, Bitty had talked them through years of kitchen history and maybe a Julia Child’s recipe or two. The customer ended up with the originally confusing hand mixer and enough spatulas to get him through the Julia Child’s cookbook Bitty almost sold him. 

“I’d better start simple for now,” the customer said, staring down at the book with a frown.

Bitty bagged up his stuff and made sure his name was printed clear as day at the top of the customer’s receipt. A boy could dream. “Thank you…?” he prompted. 

The customer looked startled. “Uh, Jack.”

Bitty handed Jack his receipt with a flourish. “Thank you, Jack. You come back any time now, and we’ll see if we can get you more familiar with our machinery.”

Jack nodded, holding his bag of supplies and his receipt in front of him like he wasn’t sure he’d actually bought something. Then he turned and walked out the door, a beautiful mass of confusion and biceps, bless his heart. 

With a sigh over the wonder that had been that man—Jack—‘s body, if not his mind, Bitty turned toward restocking the mixer display. 

*  
"Yo Bits, dipshit is back."

"William Pointdexter, you watch your tone," Bitty said, trying to turn around and look at his beautiful dumb customer as un-thirstily as possible. 

And Jack was back indeed, still wearing his ridiculous yellow sneakers and a blue ball cap. He was standing in the doorway, looking around, like he expected whatever he needed to fall right out of the rafters. Lord help him, Bitty wasn’t planning on climbing any stairs today. 

He managed a little bit of oogling before Chowder gently pushed him away from the register to clock in, his teal blue apron already slung around his neck, unapproved Sharks button the root of a lot of Bitty’s arguments with management.

"What's the exciting thing happening today?" Chowder asked merrily, tapping at the keyboard. Honestly, Bitty would never tell his other coworkers, but Chowder was definitely his favorite. Even if his button caused trouble with the older customers, who all just thought Chowder was an avid marine life advocate. 

"Bitty's dumbass customer is back to woo him with heavy baking supplies and an ass that won't quit," Nursey replied, narrowly dodging Bitty's swat at his sneakers on the register table.

"Oh, hush. Some people just need a little extra help is all. There's nothing wrong with wanting to learn more."

"Yeah, I'm sure he comes in just to learn the baking supplies."

Bitty didn't appreciate Nursey's tone or his eyebrows and told him as such.

"Uh. Eric?"

And bless his big, dumb heart, there he was.

"Good morning, Jack, what can we find for you today?"

"I need one of those things that slice apples?" He mimicked chopping with his hand, then smooshed them together. Because that was how applies were sliced. But what big hands they were.  
"We've got apple slicers in aisle six, hon, I can show you." Bitty hopped out from behind the register but stopped abruptly when Chowder latched onto his arm. 

Jack had already turned toward aisle six, so Bitty let himself turn his most affronted expression toward sweet Chowder, his favorite coworker, whose betrayal at a time like this was most unwelcome.  
Chowder face was doing something close to the time he came into work after his first date with Farmer, or after the Sharks won a spectacularly close game.

"Bitty," he whisper-shrieked, because Chowder didn't do things in halves. "What is Jack Zimmerman of the Providence Falconers doing in our store?"

Bitty blinked. "What?"

"Oh shit." Nursey straightened up and peered closer at Jack, who'd stopped to take a look at pie tins and, bless his heart, was holding them upside-down. "That totally is him. Wow. I didn't recognize him without his robot face on."

"What are y'all goin’ on about now?"

"Bitty, your dumbass customer is the captain of one of the most high-ranking teams in the NHL."

Bitty turned and looked at Jack again, from his neon yellow running shoes to the pie tin cradled between his very large hands.

"Oh." 

“Oh? I thought you skated, shouldn’t you know who he is?”

“Figure skating is an entirely different animal than your heathenistic knife shoe sport, Derek Nurse.” Bitty sniffed. “If Adam Rippon or Michelle Kwan walked into this store, I’d be the first to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to help a man find an apple slicer.”

Ignoring Nursey’s murmured comment about what else he might find, Bitty marched over to where Jack was still patiently standing beside the pie tins. 

“You plannin’ an apple pie? Because I’ve got the perfect recipe if you want it, though you have to promise not to share it with the bridge ladies.”

“Oh, no, uh, I’m not really very good in the kitchen.” Jack put the pie tin down, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hence your continued presence in my store.”

Jack smiled, a small, hesitant thing, and it did wonders for his already handsome face. “I figured there was nothing wrong with trying to learn something new.”

There you are, Bitty thought, right before his traitorous heart determined that Jack Zimmerman of the Providence Falconers was nice enough that his baking stupidity didn’t matter. 

“I really can give you some recipes, tips and tricks I’ve picked up. I’ve won ribbons with my pies, Jack. Don’t doubt the power of a Bittle with enough butter.”

Jack smiled wider this time, his big hands floating in the space between them, as if now that Jack wasn’t holding the pie tin he’d like to be holding something else. 

Lord, Bitty was going to lose either his mind or his job over this customer. 

“Maybe,” Jack started, “maybe we could—”

Dex’s voice on the loudspeaker interrupted him, and really, for as hard as his coworkers worked to put Bitty in the vicinity of cute boys, they were doing a great job of keeping him away from this one.  
“Bitty, we have a code blue in aisle ten that could use some assistance.”

“That’ll be Mrs. Eiffleman again.” Bitty shook his head and started digging through his apron pockets. “Lord knows she’ll make a mess of the whole store if I don’t get over there. Hold that thought, sugar, okay? I’ll be back in just a sec.”

It took longer than a sec to sort out Mrs. Eiffleman, because she was a woman not to be hurried. Over an hour later Bitty was standing in a destroyed aisle with a strong desire to work his way through all the fancy cooking alcohol they had in the store. Instead, he let himself wish that every customer listened like Jack did and strode back to aisle six with purpose.

But Jack was gone by the time he got there, and Bitty tried to tell himself that his disappointment was unwarranted. 

*  
“Bits, my dude, Jack has come in here four times this week. He keeps asking for you.” 

Bitty ignored Nursey’s feet on the counter and the way his heart beat erratically in his chest.

“What did you do to him?” Dex asked, kind of an accusation, kind of a curiosity, but Bitty had learned how to interpret the Pointdexter emotions by now. 

“Y’all mind your own business. I didn’t do anything that Julia Childs wouldn’t have done.”

Chowder frowned. “Wasn’t she like six feet tall?”

Chowder lost his button privilege. 

*  
It was his first day off in two weeks, and like the fool he was, Eric was in his stupid store, shopping for a stupid new hand mixer. Because of course Nancy had to short circuit on his day off. 

He was debating between colors when a familiar pair of yellow sneakers drifted into view. Bitty looked up to find a ballcap-clad Jack, looking as endearing as ever. 

“Heya Jack,” Bitty greeted. “What’re you in for today?”

“Uh.” Jack looked around the aisle they were in, as if he hadn’t noticed all the mixers until now. “You?”

Bitty blinked. 

“I mean.” Jack cleared his throat. “I hadn’t seen you in a bit. Here. At the store. I was afraid I’d scared you off,” Jack admitted, looking visibly flustered. It was a decidedly good look on him. 

“It’ll take more than a little ineptitude in the kitchen to scare me away, Mr. Zimmerman,” Bitty replied, letting himself be cheeky so that he wouldn’t be flirty. Although, to be fair, this was the most flirting action Bitty had gotten himself into in weeks. 

“I’m getting better since you’ve helped me.”

Bitty cocked his hip, brandishing his mixer. “I know a thing or two. You came to the right store. A few times, it sounds like.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s persistent blush got even darker. “I wanted to ask you to bake a pie with me. Or show me how to do it. But, like, romantically?”

“Jack Zimmerman, are you trying to ask me on a date?”

Jack nodded miserably. “But I heard you’re not supposed to ask out employees while they’re at work,” he said. “It’s like a trap. Shitty explained it better. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Bitty looked at Jack, with his stupid yellow shoes and his earnest blue eyes, and kind of wanted to strangle whoever Shitty was. “I’m not working now.”

“You’re not.”

Bitty looked at him meaningfully. 

Jack smiled, and beneath that grin, Bitty could see that this man might not know his way around a mixer, but that didn’t mean he was dumb. In fact, Bitty had a sneaking suspicion that Jack was plenty smarter than he seemed. 

“Would you maybe want to bake a pie with me?”

“Tell you what,” Bitty said, setting his mixer down and reaching for Jack’s hand. He scrawled his phone number slowly, relishing the warmth of Jack’s hand in his. “If you take me to dinner first, I’ll bake a few pies for you. That sound alright?”

Jack curled his hand around Bitty’s and smiled down at him, the widest one Bitty had seen so far. “Yeah,” he said, cheeks still pink, hands still warm. “That sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bitty: so, you actually know how to use a mixer right?  
> Jack: definitely. I really just needed a reason to talk to you


End file.
